Crimson Blossoms
by SilverBlueMoon
Summary: Clove was the perfect Career tribute: sadistic, ruthless, and completely without conscience. But what could have caused her to become so inhuman? This is my take on the life of Clove, and how she became who she was in the 74th Hunger Games.
1. The Victor

**Hello again to all of my amazing readers! So, I decided to write a story based off of an already existing character for the first time! This will also be a sort of expirement because of the fact that I've never written an present-tense before.**

**Anyway, this is an idea that started nagging at me a few weeks back, and I just had to write it. Clove is one of my favorite Hunger Games characters. I always wondered what made her into the sadistic murderer that she is. No one is born bloodthirsty. So, without further ado, my version of Clove's early life, from toddler to tribute!**

* * *

It's my first memory. Looking back, I can still see it with a crystal-sharp clarity, despite all of the years that have passed.

I am standing amidst the assembled throng of District Two citizens, the air palpably charged with excitement. It is late summer, and the faint breeze carries the tantalizing hint of autumn. For the first time in nearly a month, the air does not scorch my skin upon contact. I bounce up and down of the balls of my feet, straining to see over the shoulders of the people towering above me. I've always been small for my age. Although I am three, my height makes me look closer to a one-year-old.

I feel myself flying upward as a pair of strong hands clasps around my waist. Twisting my head back, I see the laughing face of my older brother, Brier, as he lifts me to his shoulders. I giggle, giddy with joy, and turn to face the platform just as the train pulls into the station.

The silence in the crowd is absolute. We wait with bated breath, hardly daring to breathe. And then-oh! The smooth doors of the train slide open and I just manage to catch a glimpse of the luxurious interior, though the majority of the vision is obscured by the figure exiting the car.

We erupt in rapturous cheers as she comes into view-Enobaria, the victor of the sixty-second annual Hunger Games. She steps out onto the platform and her lips curve upward in a self-assured, arrogant smile as she surveys the assembled masses. She racks a large hand through her messy hair. Her blue eyes glitter in a dangerous combination of malice and pride.

"Someday, that's going to be me," Brier whispers in my ear. "You'd be proud of your brother then, Clove, wouldn't you?"

I study him; his unruly hair, a shade darker than my own, and his smiling chocolate eyes. He may be only eleven, but he exists with the maturity of someone much older. "Of course," I respond. I lean forward and hug my arms tightly around his face.

Eventually, the crowd disperses, and Enobaria disappears into the Victor's Village.

I run alongside my lanky brother, struggling to keep up with his long strides. "When you win," I begin, pausing for a moment to gasp for air, "Will you let me keep the house they give you?"

Brier pauses, turning to face me. "Oh, I don't know, Clove." a mischievous smile plays along his lips. "Maybe I'll keep that one, and let you have ours."

"But I don't _like_ our house," I pout.

"Oh, don't be silly," Brier grins as he scoops me into his arms. I squeal with excitement. "I only turned eleven a few months ago, Clove, and I won't volunteer until I'm eighteen."

"But that's so far away!"

"Which leaves me with plenty of time to train."

I nod. "Okay."

Brier paused, thinking. "Victor of the seventieth Hunger Games has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Yeah."

"Now, mother asked us to pick up some food before heading home, remember?"

"Yeah. Can we get cake?"

Brier laughs, though I don't find my comment to be all that funny. "Maybe another day, Clove."

"Fine," I sigh dramatically. "What about tomorrow, then?"

"I make no promises."

I shake my head, allowing my dark pigtails to whip around my face. "Race you to the market," I call out on impulse, taking off like a bullet. I feel the pale green fabric of my dress fluttering behind me as I run.

I notice a Peacekeeper watching me, laughing, and my mood instantly sours. Primly, I slow to a walk and toss my nose into the air. Brier catches up with me almost instantly.

I can tell he too is laughing, and it irks me. I try to outdistance him, but my short legs cannot carry me fast enough.

I trip, sprawling on the dusty street. I feel my lower lip beginning to tremble, and I struggle to contain the sob threatening to emerge. I inspect the stinging palms of my hands to find them raw and scraped. I truly cannot contain it anymore; a wail rises out of my mouth and fills the semi-silent air.

My brother is instantly at my side, lifting me up into his arms. "Shh, Clove, it's okay," he murmurs soothingly in my ear. "You're okay."

I lean back and nod as silent tears continue to trickle down my face. Brier takes off again in the direction of the market.

Five minutes later, when we arrive, Brier puts me down. I reach up, straining, and entwine my fingers with his.

We walk quickly into the market, where Brier picks out a basketful of onions, potatoes, flour, nuts, oats, and lentils. Next, he stops by the stall of a tiny, withered woman to purchase a plump gray-feathered chicken.

I stifle a giggle as I watch the ash-colored, clumsy bird flutter in my brother's grasp. I volunteer to carry the overflowing basket, even though it truly is too heavy for my thin arms. Together, Brier and I walk the two miles to the train station. From there, we ride for a half hour to reach our tiny home, lying somewhere in the northern reaches of District Two.

* * *

Mother is glad to receive our groceries, claiming that the food available in our tiny villa simply cannot compare with the fare found in the district's central city. She leans in to kiss my forehead. She smells of freshly baked tesserae bread and sunlight. It's a comforting smell. I study my mother. She is of slim build, like me, but tall, with luxurious blonde hair that I envy.

"Where's dad?" questions Brier, leaning against the doorframe.

"Out," mother responds vaguely. "Somewhere."

"Of course he is," Brier mutters. "I'm going out."

"But you just got here!"

"I know. But I'm going back to training in two days, and they'll kill me if I haven't practiced."

"Don't be long!" exclaims my mother, but Brier is already in his room. "And Clove, darling, why don't we go and get you some clean clothes. You look as if you were rolling in the dirt!"

She picks me up and drags me into my small room. Sighing, she washes my face and arms with lukewarm water and pulls a clean, if somewhat ratty, cotton dress over my shoulders.

"Now, come and help mommy make dinner," she instructs me.

She sits me down and asks me to stir the bowl that simmers over the fire. I do, until my arms tire and the heat rises to my face.

Sighing, I wipe the sweat from my face with the back of my hand. "Mommy, can I go?" I question her.

She exhales slowly, slender shoulders drooping. "Yes," she concedes. "Go tell your brother that dinner is almost ready."

I nod and scamper out of the house. I glance back once as I reach the field five yards away. It's small, made of chipped gray stone, lined with colorful flowers and a halfhearted attempt at a vegetable garden. The windows each contain one small, precious panel of cloudy glass. It's not much, but it is certainly better off than the slums one sees in the outlying villages.

I find my brother wrestling the air, breathing heavily as he throws punch after punch into the wind. I stand still, watching him. I've seen Brier in every emotion from joy to fury before, but I've never seen him like this. Fighting the air, with his teeth clenched and eyes narrowed, he frightens me.

"Dinner's ready," I finally manage to venture.

Brier stops, whirling around to face me. "Clove," he pants.

"Come on, let's eat," I urge him.

"Fine, sure," he gasps, wiping moisture from his face.

We rush into the house and wash up.

Mother places two bowls of an unidentifiable mush in front of us. I stare at the slush- oats mixed with flour, thinly sliced potatoes, and onions, it looks like.

"Yum," Brier mutters sarcastically, stuffing the slush into his mouth.

I nibble at it experimentally. It's not great, I'll admit, but it could be much worse. With the limited supplies we get here, it really is not so bad. I wonder if the rest of the food we bought will be put to better use, but I decide not to ask after noticing her sour expression. Instead, I wolf down my meal forcefully.

I struggle not to choke as the mush travels down my throat. For all her wonderful qualities, my mother has never been a good cook.

"I'm done," Brier announces suddenly.

"Are you sure?" my mother questions him. "I could get you something else if you want."

"No, it's fine. I figure I should go to sleep now."

"But it's not even dark yet!"

"I don't care," he exclaims, stalking out of the room.

"Clove, I suppose it's time for you to sleep as well," my mother tells me.

I want to retort angrily, but decide against it at the last moment. "Okay," I respond, jumping up and running to my room. I dig though the mussed sheets to find my rumpled nightdress.

I brush my teeth clumsily and struggle with the fabric, finally managing to pull it over my head.

My mother turns out the faint light in my room. I lay in semi-darkness, watching the sunset fade into shades of gray and blue. Eventually, my eyelids flutter, and I drift into sleep.

* * *

When I wake up, the sun is just beginning to rise. On silent, bare feet, I make my way to my window.

I see a faint silhouette leaning against the trees, facing south. Stifling a gasp, I exit the house with as much sound as a shadow.

"Where are you going?" I demand of my brother.

"Clove! What are you doing out here?" he exclaims.

"I saw you," I respond with simple toddler logic.

Brier sighs, pulling his hands through his black-brown hair. "I'm going back to the training center," he tells me.

"Why? You said you had a few days left!"

"Yes, I did, but…"

"Then stay!"

Brier pulls me into a tight hug and holds me there. "Clove, I have to go," he says. "I'll see you in a month, during our free days."

"I'll miss you,"

Brier nods tightly, his eyes already searching the south for signs of the approaching train. "I'll miss you two, Clove. Be good to mom now, you hear?"

"Yes."

Brier hugs me once again before letting go. I watch as his figure disappears down the dusty street, heading off to the training center. And suddenly, I have a crazy thought.

"Brier, wait!" I call, racing after him. "Wait!"

He turns around, face twisted with impatience. I shy away upon noticing his expression. "I…nothing," I mumble, eyes on the ground.

"Well, head back then," he replies.

I nod, and Brier once again departs.

I plop down into the ground and refuse to move, watching as he fades from my sight, and I allow the silent tears to come.

My mother finds me like that, five minutes or an hour later, I really do not know. Hugging me tight to her slim body, she pulls me back into my room and lays me down.

"I knew you were too young to go yesterday…" she murmurs, tucking me in. "Sleep now, my little Clove. It's been a long day."

* * *

**So, I know that this is not up to my usual standards, but it's much harder than I expected, this writting from a three-year old's perspective. And Clove might seem a little OCC, (out-of-character-character), but I figured that she'd still be an innocent child before she began training.**

**I promise to make the next chapter more intriguing!**


	2. The Training Academy

**Author's note: and here is the second installment of Clove's story! It's not very interesting, but I promise that you will find the next chapters to be more interesting, so please bear with me! And other than that...I'm basing Clove out of elements from both the book and the movie, mostly becuase I lost my copy of The Hunger Games about four months ago, and it has yet to turn up. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Are you sure?" questions my mother worriedly, studying me.

"Oh, she'll be fine," my father replies.

I nod vigorously and clasp my hand tighter on my suitcase. In it is everything I'll need to move to the training center: basic hygiene products, a satchel of money, and all of my clothing.

"She's older than I was when I started training," Brier volunteers. I look to where he stands. Years of hard training have added muscle to his once slender figure, and his eyes twinkle with a cruelty that did not exist just three years ago.

"Yes, and I'm sure that turned out just fine," my mother snaps.

"It did!" he exclaims. "In fact, I'm almost top of my class, after that Ray person. They've already told me that I'll more likely than not be a tribute in a few years!"

I smile proudly up at my fourteen-year old brother. I'm still not sure I want to go live at the training center, but if he did it, then I want to as well.

"But Clove's only _six_!" my mother wails, looking at me. "And she's so tiny!"

I scowl. It's the worst thing she could have said to me. I know full well that I'm small for my age, but there is really no need to parade the fact in front of my face!

"Clove'll be fine, don't worry."

"I'm still not sure," my mother responds, nibbling her lip nervously.

"I'm going!" I exclaim, fed up with the argument. "Let's leave, Brier. The train will be here soon!"

I stomp out of the room defiantly, beat-up suitcase thumping along beside me.

Brier shoots an apologetic look at our parents and follows me outside. "You should at least say goodbye," he reprimands me.

My cheeks flush at his comment. If Brier says it, then I must have done something wrong. I whirl around hurriedly and fairly leap at my parents. "Bye!" I yell cheerfully. "See you next month!"

"We'll miss you Clove," my father murmurs into my dark hair. as he pulls me into a tight hug.

"You'll do great," my mother encourages me. "With a legacy like your brother's you have to be wonderful."

I grin. Anything that compares me to my older brother must be good. "I'll see you soon," I whisper. _You'll be proud of me_, I add in my mind.

"Now, go, or you'll miss the train," my mother murmurs.

I run back to Brier, who has slung my bag over his shoulder without the slightest show of exertion.

"Let's go!" I yell happily.

Slowly, Brier and I make our way to the train station.

I bounce on the metal bench impatiently, waiting for the train to clatter down the track in a loud burst of sound and steam. I wait…and wait…until, at long last, it pulls into the station.

A dull green in color, the engine hisses out putrid gray smoke.

I cough, my eyes watering at the smell. Brier leaps up and I follow close behind. I've been to District Two's central city a fair amount in my life. I've been to every Reaping, every Victory Tour. On rare occasions, someone in my family will insist that we need something only the main city can offer. But other than that, I am ashamed to say that I am rather like a country bumpkin, living in a home made from hand-carved, rather crude stonework.

But somehow, this trip is nothing like any of those previous visits. It is as if I am going to another District, not a city.

The scenery flashes by-gray tinted earth sticks out from underneath blades of shockingly green grass. In the distance, I can see dozens of mountains, ringing our district. Somewhere, beyond the most distant mountaintops, lays the Capitol. Someday, someday soon, my brother will arrive there for the first time.

* * *

"Ready?" asks Brier, turning to face me.

"Is this our stop?" I question, slightly dismayed. We're not quite in the central city, but rather ten minutes to the south of it.

"Of course, Clove. Just because we're Careers doesn't mean we have to flaunt it in front of the Peacekeepers."

"Oh," is the only thing I can think of.

Brier leads me off the main platform and down a long, twisting path. He leads me to the oddest building I have ever seen. It is made of gray stone, like the majority of the buildings in District Two. Unlike most buildings, however, this one seems to extend backwards into the sheer rock face of a mountain.

I grin. It's a strong building, impossible to ignore. Rather like the Career Tributes themselves. "Here?" I ask, unable to keep the excitement from my voice.

"Of course, Clove. Where else?"

I don't respond, but I follow him indoors.

It takes me a while to accustom my sight to the dim interior. I can tell instantly that this was a place built for function rather than elegance. The floor is made of impossibly smooth cement, and the walls are covered in stone brickwork. There is not one rug or picture to be seen.

"Hello," says a woman with a clipped voice.

I whirl around and take in the sight of her. She is tall, a good five-foot-ten at least. Her figure might have been thin once, but it is now overflowing with muscle. Her hair is a chestnut color and is tied back in a no-nonsense, tight ponytail. She purses her red lips and stared at us with narrowed eyes.

"Good morning, instructor Ansiee," Brier says respectfully. "I've brought my younger sister, Clove, to begin her training."

Ansiee studies me. "She's so _small_," she snorts disdainfully. "Well, never mind that. She'll probably be eliminated within the first trimester."

I open my mouth to retort, but Brier nudges me with his elbow, silencing me.

"Come along to my office then, so we can discuss this in detail," she instructs.

Dutifully, Brier and I follow her. "Who is that?" I question my brother.

"One of the directors of the training program," Brier informs me. "She also has zero tolerance for _anything_. So be sure to stay on her good side, you hear?"

I nod as we enter Anisee's office. I search for any sign of dirt, dirt, or even one misplaced paperclip, but find nothing. What I do find, however, is a rather tarnished silver knife hanging in a placard over her desk.

Anisee notices my stare, and for just a moment her expression softens into one of…fondness.

"My father used that knife to win the forty-seventh Games," she tells me, her voice tinged in pride.

"You'll be in compartment G8," Ansiee continues, studying a piece of paper, her face once again a mask of efficiency. "Brier, I trust you can show her to her room?"

"Yes, ma'am, but…"

"But what?" Anisee snaps with annoyance.

"Well, that's where the girl's dorms are."

She sighed. "I suppose they are." Anisee pushed a little button, turning on the loudspeaker device.

"Rosell Waren, please head to the entrance of the dormitories," she called. "We need you to show around the newbie."

She turned to me. "Here is your schedule, miss," Anisee told me. "You will find a list of rules and a map in your room. As a new member, you are under probation for the next trimester, until you can prove your worth. 'Got that?"

I nod. "Yes, ma'am, I say, finding my voice at last.

"Good. Off you go then."

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," Brier whispers into my ear. "Follow me, Clove," he says, smirking.

I trot behind my brother obediently. After desending two flights of stairs and countless twists and turns, we arrive at a hallway clearly marked with the letter "G" beneth that hangs a sign that clearly reads: "Female trainies only beyonf this point"

Leaning against the wall is a girl I assume must be Rosell. Her long legs are stretched out in front of her, and her half-open green eyes glow like a cat's. Her shoulder-length red-gold hair is streaked with a shocking blue, and her slightly upturned nose sports a single piercing.

If I didn't know better, I would claim that this Rosell was a Capitol citizen. As it is, I can tell that she comes from one of the most prominent District Two families.

Her entire face lights up upon catching sight of Brier. "And how are you?" she gushes.

"Uh…fine," Brier stammers.

I stare at him. This is new. Never have I seen my brother as nervous as he looks right now. His face colors slightly, and I look away. _Boys_. I'll never understand them.

"I'm Clove," I say brightly to Rosell, holding my hand out.

"Rosell," she responds curtly. "Let's go," she orders me. Pausing, she turns and studies my brother. "See you in training?" she asks him.

"Sure," he responds, walking away. "Oh, Clove," he tells me, "I don't know when I'll be able to get away, but I'll try and find you later."

I nod, and Brier disappears down the hall. Rosell exhales, a faint blush painting her face. "Come, on newbie," she orders. "Which room do you have?" she questions.

"G8," I respond.

"G8. That is over…here," she tells me as she leads me to a door. "Today, you get to settle in. Tomorrow, you'll begin training. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have weapon training to complete."

I enter my room slowly. It is tiny, only about six feet by ten feet in length. The lighting is dim, but with a golden tint, giving the illusion of warmth. I notice two doors, presumably leading to a closet and bathroom. As for furniture-I have one small chair, a table, and a narrow bunk. I find a dresser within my closet.

I sit down on the unmade bed and sigh. It's far from the chambers I had envisioned, but the room will work well enough.

I find a clean set of sheets in the closet and drape them over my mattress. Then, I somehow manage to fling my suitcase onto to the chair.

I move my scarce belongings into the drawers of my dresser and hand up the others. I find my thin nightgown, two dresses-one in pale purple cotton, the other in light red wool. In the drawers, I place my undergarments, six shirts, and three trousers. My second pair of shoes I toss onto the floor.

Once done, I flop on my bed and fall asleep.

The ring of a bell startles me to wakefulness. Blinking my bleary eyes, I head to the bathroom, where I wash my face. The faintly glowing clock on the table reads 8:27 pm when I come out.

Frowning, I take a look at my schedule. As it turns out, I have dinner now. Pulling my map and schedule into the waistband of my pockets, I head out.

Somehow, I manage to maneuver my way to the cafeteria, taking only about five wrong turns in the process.

Eventually, I wind up in the lunch line, staring at the bowl of…soup…that they give me.

"What is this?" I ask, taking my assigned seat in the section for the youngest trainees.

"Tessera grain stew," responds a girl. "They feed us with the stuff they can get for free, basically."

I turn to face her. She shares her coloring with the majority of District Two-light brown hair, golden-tinted skin, and light colored eyes. And, even though she's sitting down, I can already tell this girl is taller than me by well over a head.

"What's your name?" she asks me.

"Clove," I respond. "I just arrived a few hours ago," I feel compelled to add.

"I figured as much. I'm Janyse, by the way."

"Oh. How long have you been here?"

"About six months," she replies.

"I suppose you know how to get around, then," I joke.

"Yeah. But you'll get it eventually. This place is not as big as it seems at first."

"I got lost, just now," I admit.

"Hmm…what's your schedule?"

Wordlessly, I hand her my scrap of paper. "Oh, you have the same classes as me!" she exclaims. "I could show you around tomorrow, if you want."

"Oh, could you?" I gasp.

"Sure. What's your room number?"

"G8," I respond.

"Oh, that's close to me! I'm in G17, just down the hall."

I nod and focus on eating this tessera grain mush. It may not be very good, but it is wholesome nonetheless, shot through with the merest hint of spices.


	3. Training Begins

**Welcome to the third installment of Clove's history!**

**I suppose this is a good a time as any to start my delayed credits.**

**First of all, thank you to Lighting Eyed (formerly MalorieoftheMoon) for introducing me to and convincing me to start my own fanfiction account. Make sure to check out her incredible PJO stories.**

**Next, to cloving (originally littlemissfurhman) for being the first person to ever review one of my stories, and the only person to review all of the chapters in my story. Writing is so much more gratifying when you have wonderful reviewers like her. **

**No, I do not own ****The Hunger Games****. If I did, the mutts in the movie would not resemble gray pit bulls.**

* * *

A knock sounds on my door much too early for my taste. When I don't respond, Janyse barges in.

"Oh, good, you're ready," she grins.

I nod soundlessly. My hair, still damp, is pulled back into a high ponytail. I wear a simple outfit of black trousers and a dark red tunic. I stifle a yawn and stand up.

Janyse looks at me incredulously. "You can't be tired! It's already seven!"

I moan an incoherent reply.

"Come on, you need breakfast," Janyse grins.

I nod and follow her out the door. The scent of cafeteria food causes my stomach to rumble.

I plop down at the table, staring with bleary eyes at the wood grain. A laughing Janyse pushes a piece of still-warm bread into my hand.

* * *

I stare down at the portion of brown bread. It's made of tesserae grain, from the looks of it. I smear a red jelly onto the bread and swallow it in three large bites.

Another bell sounds, and all of the students file out of the room. I follow behind Janyse as she bounces to the classroom.

I stare around in shock, taking in my surroundings. The cavernous chamber is made completely of dark stone and littered with cushioning mats. I spot a rack of weapons-all wood-on a side wall.

"And who are you?" questions a soft voice.

Flinching, I whirl about and come face-to-face with a man who can only be the trainer. He is only a few inches above five feet, with thinning mousy brown hair and a face that, despite all odds, actually looks kindly.

"I'm Clove, the new student," I whisper.

"Ah, yes, Anisee told me about you." He inspects me. "From what she said, I imagined someone hopeless. But you-I think you have a good chance. Call me Otavio."

"Thank you," I stutter. I'm unsure how to respond to this odd man's comment.

"Gather around, class," he calls out, velvety voice echoing around the chamber. "We have a new pupil," he announces once everyone has gathered around him.

From my shadowed post, I study my peers. They're all several inches taller than me, and look like they so physical exercise every day of their lives.

They stare right back at me, some with open interest; others with hostility. I give a helpless smile that is probably more like a grimace than anything else.

"I want all of you to practice your basic strike and block methods on the swords, please. Partner up, everyone!" Otavio turns to face me. "You, Miss Clove, will be working with me. You have a lot to catch up on."

I nod uncertainly.

Five minutes later, I am even more uncertain than I was before. My right hand is clasped rather awkwardly around the smooth wooden sword, which is the smallest one the trainer could find.

"Um…how exactly am I supposed to do this?" I question.

"You hold the sword like so," he demonstrates.

"Okay…" I mumble; brow furrowed in concentration. The sword's _heavy_, much more than I expected.

"And now, lunge," Otavio instructs me.

I throw the blade into the air in front of me, legs stumbling forward in clumsy steps from the momentum.

"No, no," he sighs. "You need to control the blade. Thrust as if it were an extension of your arm."

I scowl but try to do what he says nonetheless.

"Good, that was much better," Otavio applauds me.

I flash a triumphant smile and swing the blade again. I know that I am still unbalanced and clumsy, but I don't care.

"Keep doing that, Clove," Otavio tells me. "I'll go make the rounds with the other students. Ten repetitions for each arm, please."

I lunge, again and again. Even if the blade is only wood, it's heavy, and my arms are trembling halfway through.

I don't falter, though. My brother is counting on me to make him proud. I won't disappoint him.

The remainder of the lesson is spent lunging forward with a sword and learning basic footwork.

I'm not a particularly adept pupil, but I am far from hopeless. As the hours were on, my strikes gradually become less flailing and more controlled. At the very least, I can get the blade to go within ten inches of my intended target. And though I still stumble forward with my momentum, I manage not to sprawl on the floor or drop the sword.

A bell rings overhead, startling me. Never have I worked this hard. My tired mind has slipped into a stupor in which I move without thinking.

"Go get lunch, everyone!" Otavio calls, his soft voice echoing around the dark chamber.

I exit with the back of the group, struggling to catch up to my larger classmates. I suppose I shouldn't be as shocked as I am to see how easily they move, as if these past three hours were nothing more than a gentle exercise. But then, they've been training much longer than I have.

Others might be discouraged by this reminder of how behind they are, but if anything, it refuels my determination. At that moment, I vow that I will one day surpass my peers.

I feel a tap on my arm and turn around. Janyse strides along beside me, her footsteps sounding on the smooth floor.

"Are you sitting with me?" she demands.

"Yeah…" I respond. "I told you I would, didn't I?"

"Just making sure," she grins.

I summon a smile in return.

"So, how'd your first class go?" she questions me as we ascend the staircase.

"Oh, well enough. I didn't fall on my face or anything."

Janyse stifles a giggle and pulls me to the lunch line. Once again, the meal is sub-par. It consists of a brick of course tesserae bread, half of a chicken wing, and a glass of water.

I frown, inspecting the miniscule portions. I was hoping for at least twice as much after all of the exercise that I had just completed.

"Newbie," snorted the girl who sat across from me.

I looked up, startled. "What did you call me?"

"A newbie. Only a newbie would be so clueless about the food." Flicking back her red hair, she saunters away to a new seat further away from us.

"What did she mean?" I question Janyse intently.

"Oh, nothing much," she responds airily. "She was probably talking about your expression."

"Oh," I murmur, ingesting this information. "Why are the food portions so small, anyway?"

"They train us like that-shrink our bellies, so that we won't go hungry in the Arena if anything happens to our supplies."

I nod. "That makes sense." I pause, considering. "Who was that, anyway?"

"Oh, Susan? You don't want to mess with her." Janyse inclines her head to the red-haired girl. "She was born in the central city, so she thinks that makes her better than everyone else here.

"Her entire family has victors in it-her uncle, her half-brother, her cousin, great grandmother…

"Plus, she's convinced that she's the prettiest trainee here."

"Oh," I say. I inspect Susan's face closely. I suppose that she is beautiful, in a way, with her fire-bright hair, porcelain skin, and enormous dark eyes. "And what does that have to do with me?"

"She's the oldest in our class, first of all, and she doesn't like it when someone new comes.

"She started late, you see. And anyway…she wants to be the best. She'll think you're a threat to her."

I nod, storing away this information. I will be every bit of the threat she thinks I might turn out to be.

* * *

When I crawl into my dorm that night, I am tired beyond comprehension. My limbs tremble from the energy I used in both my morning and afternoon lessons.

Somehow, I manage to drag on my flimsy nightgown and collapse on the sheets. I don't even bother to stop by the bathroom to do the normal pre-sleep rituals. I set the alarm clock to 6:30 am. It's rather late-nearly midnight-and I can't even begin to imagine how I'll be able to move tomorrow, once the ache sets in.

My worries fade into calming background noise the moment my head hits the pillow and I drift off into a dreamless slumber.


	4. The Knife

**Hello to everyone who reads this! I'm so sorry for the delay! I had finals to study for and take (never a fun expirience, when you're an honor student that suffers from test anxiety) After that, my family took a trip to Florida for a week. And I started work-I'm an assistant at an art camp. I love the work, but it's seven hours a day. I was planning to upload yesterday, but I got home and collapsed into a pile to sleep.**

**To make up for it, I've made this chapter a thousand words longer than my previous ones.**

**_Don't forget my poll! (it's on my profile, and pertains to this story)_**

**No, I do not own The Hunger Games. Get off my case, will 'ya?**

* * *

When I wake up, I'm immobile. I can't even push the "off" button on my alarm without sending a ripple of pain through my sore muscles.

Somehow, I drag myself over to my small bathroom, where I manage to turn on the shower.

I let out a small shriek when I am hit with a blast of boiling-hot water. Wincing, I manage to turn it down to a more manageable temperature.

I crouch in the bottom of the shower, whimpering as the water impacts against my sore body. _Stop it Clove_, I instruct myself. _You need to get up-slowly-slowly-good. It's only pain, _I tell myself. _I'll be fine, just as long as I don't stop moving_.

Somehow, I manage to drag myself out of the shower and dry off. My muscles still hurt something awful, but at least I can move.

I struggle into a clean shirt and yesterday's trousers before flopping face-down on the bed.

I mumble something that could be taken as a "come in," when the knock sounds on my door. At any rate, that must be what Janyse hears, for she barges in without pause.

"Still asleep?" she chides me.

"Uh…" I respond. "I'll get up. No, really. Just…give me a second." Slowly, I force myself upright.

Janyse makes a face. "Overwork yourself yesterday?"

"Yep," I say, too tired to partake in conversation. "Breakfast?" I question her.

"Let's go."

I follow Janyse silently. I wince with every single movement I make, but I refuse to cry out or ask her to slow down. I have a feeling that she would lose any respect she has for me if I were to admit my weakness.

I barely even taste my meal. I suppose that's just as well, for it is once again composed of the tesserae grain bread smeared with jellies and jams.

"So, what do we have to do today?" I question Janyse.

"Long range fighting," she tells me after a moment's pause.

"What's that?" I question, hating having to ask.

"You know, bow and arrows, spears, knives. That sort of stuff."

"Oh," I respond, nodding sagely. My mind flashes back to a Game that I saw a few years back. The victor won by shooting a knife into her opponent's unprotected throat. And a few years before that, a tribute made it all the way to the end by tying a spear to his wrist and tossing it into his opponents.

We make our way to a different classroom today. This one's longer than the other room, but not as wide. Targets have been placed along half of the chamber.

The instructor in the room does not appear nearly as nice as Otavio. She's tall, and rather thin, with sharp features. Her blue eyes are cold and malicious. Her skin is tanned from the sunlight, and her black hair is pulled back from her diamond-shaped face in a severe bun.

I swallow, scolding myself for feeling nervous.

"That's Thistle," Janyse whispers in my ear. "One of the meaner teachers. They say she's angry she was second-best and never got to compete."

I nod. "I need to go talk to her, don't I?" I question my friend.

"Yup," she smiles encouragingly.

Taking a steadying breath, I force my quivering legs to take me to the instructor. "Excuse me," I say, taking care not to let my nervousness show.

"Yes?" she snaps impatiently.

"My name is Clove. I started yesterday."

"Yes, and what do you want me to do about that?"

"I…nothing…I don't know. I just wanted to tell you that I was taking your class."

"I would have gotten to you eventually, Clover! Now go join the rest of the class!"

"It's Clove," I say. Thistle does not so much as look at me. Dejectedly, I wander back to the corner where Janyse lounges.

I stand beside her and turn to face the rest of the class. Already, I can recognize faces and attach them to names. I identify Pytr from yesterday's sword class and Susan from lunch.

Susan stands surrounded by a group of her friends. Today, she's pulled her red hair into a braid, and she wears a blue-gray outfit that compliments the color. As soon as she notices me, she scowls and favors me with a rather rude gester.

I turn away, mutating a string of phrases I've picked up from my brother. Janyse stares at me, obviously impressed.

"Gather up!" Thistle shouts. We all leap towards her and stand silently. She inspects us with a critical eye. "Rodner, what are you doing here? I kicked you out last week!"

The tall boy's pale face flushes scarlet. "You…meant that?" he questions incredulously.

Thistle's eyes flash dangerously. Before anyone in the room can react, she throws a knife at the boy. It grazes his face, leaving a thin trail of blood on his forehead and chopping off a good chunk of light brown hair.

The chamber is absolutely silent. We barely dare to breathe. The boy's-Rodner's-eyes are bright with tears.

Thistle turns away in scorn, as do most other students. Rodner looks around, searching for a kindly face. His brown eyes meet mine across the circle.

I shake my head slowly and turn away. I struggle to swallow past the lump in my throat as I hear his footsteps fade down the hallway. It's obvious to me that I cannot appear weak, even for a moment.

"What are you standing around for?" Thistle scolds us. "You, you and you," she calls, indicating three large boys, "take the spears first." She turns next to Susan's group of giggling girls. "Half of you go to the bows. As for the rest, head over to knives."

Thistle turns and fixes us with her piercing gaze. "As it seems that Clover here is following you around, Janyse, why don't you go and show her around?"

"Yes ma'am," Janyse begins, "But-"

"Excellent. Why don't we start her over at spears, then?"

Soundlessly, Janyse leads me to the spear station. I look at the long weapons critically. All of them are made of wood and tipped with a heavy metal end. The smallest of them is nearly as long as I am.

Janyse demonstrates the proper grip for the weapon. I try to mimic her. A half hour into the practice, I'm about ready to scream. The spear has yet to fly more than five feet away from me, and the distance to the targets is three times that.

"You're doing it wrong," laughs a snide voice behind us.

I can tell from the way Janyse's back stiffens that she's expecting trouble. "Yason," she says without turning around, "what do you want?"

"Why do you think I want something?" he asks her.

I can't stop myself. I whirl around to face the boy talking to us. He is only a few inches taller than I, making him the shortest boy in class, but he carries a certain self-assured arrogance about him that makes him seem taller. He has messy hair in a color that I've never seen before; a shade of black so dark it's almost blue. His eyes are almost black and glitter coolly, like those of a snake. His skin is surprisingly pale.

"You always do. And it doesn't end well," Janyse responds coolly, facing away from Yason.

"Do you want to learn, or don't you?" he asks, directing his question at me.

"Err…yes…" I respond uncertainly.

He nods. "Thought so." He strides over and lifts the spear I just attempted to throw. "You pull your arm back like this, first of all."

I nod, watching him carefully.

"Next, you take a single step forward, and move your arm in the same movement." He moves as if to illustrate the words and fires. The spear hits the target dead-center.

I stare openly at this boy. Yason cannot be older than seven, yet he threw the weapon with a strength most people would not be able to muster. "Show-off," Janyse scoffs.

Yason smirks at her. "Now try, newbie," he tells me.

I nod, nibbling my lip nervously. I pick up the lightest spear I can find and stand as Yason instructed me. I pull my arm back, aim, and fire. The spear still falls shy of the target, but it's closer by a good three yards.

"Told you," Yason simpers before sauntering away.

"That little-"Janyse begins. I shush her, but I cannot help but agree with her sentiment. Yason could turn out to be a lot of trouble.

* * *

Janyse and I work our way through all three of the stations that day. I turn out to be hopeless at archery. My arms are so weak that I cannot even string a simple longbow, never mind the more elaborate recurve bow Janyse wields with so much agility.

"It's only a twenty pound draw weight. Clover," Thistle scolds. "You'll never make it to the Capitol that way."

I grit my teeth but refuse to respond. I'll never learn if she kicks me out. I busy myself over my bowstring, which manages to snap back just that moment. I leap away, but the string still manages to slap me across my chin.

"Ow," I mumble angrily.

Janyse laughs. To her credit, she at least attempts to smother her mirth with her hands. "When I wake up, I'm immobile. I can't even push the "off" button on my alarm without sending a ripple of pain through my sore muscles.

Somehow, I drag myself over to my small bathroom, where I manage to turn on the shower.

I let out a small shriek when I am hit with a blast of boiling-hot water. Wincing, I manage to turn it down to a more manageable temperature.

I crouch in the bottom of the shower, whimpering as the water impacts against my sore body. _Stop it Clove_, I instruct myself. _You need to get up-slowly-slowly-good. It's only pain, _I tell myself. _I'll be fine, just as long as I don't stop moving_.

Somehow, I manage to drag myself out of the shower and dry off. My muscles still hurt something awful, but at least I can move.

I struggle into a clean shirt and yesterday's trousers before flopping face-down on the bed.

I mumble something that could be taken as a "come in," when the knock sounds on my door. At any rate, that must be what Janyse hears, for she barges in without pause.

"Still asleep?" she chides me.

"Uh…" I respond. "I'll get up. No, really. Just…give me a second." Slowly, I force myself upright.

Janyse makes a face. "Overwork yourself yesterday?"

"Yep," I say, too tired to partake in conversation. "Breakfast?" I question her.

"Let's go."

I follow Janyse silently. I wince with every single movement I make, but I refuse to cry out or ask her to slow down. I have a feeling that she would lose any respect she has for me if I were to admit my weakness.

I barely even taste my meal. I suppose that's just as well, for it is once again composed of the tesserae grain bread smeared with jellies and jams.

"So, what do we have to do today?" I question Janyse.

"Long range fighting," she tells me after a moment's pause.

"What's that?" I question, hating having to ask.

"You know, bow and arrows, spears, knives. That sort of stuff."

"Oh," I respond, nodding sagely. My mind flashes back to a Game that I saw a few years back. The victor won by shooting a knife into her opponent's unprotected throat. And a few years before that, a tribute made it all the way to the end by tying a spear to his wrist and tossing it into his opponents.

We make our way to a different classroom today. This one's longer than the other room, but not as wide. Targets have been placed along half of the chamber.

The instructor in the room does not appear nearly as nice as Otavio. She's tall, and rather thin, with sharp features. Her blue eyes are cold and malicious. Her skin is tanned from the sunlight, and her black hair is pulled back from her diamond-shaped face in a severe bun.

I swallow, scolding myself for feeling nervous.

"That's Thistle," Janyse whispers in my ear. "One of the meaner teachers. They say she's angry she was second-best and never got to compete."

I nod. "I need to go talk to her, don't I?" I question my friend.

"Yup," she smiles encouragingly.

Taking a steadying breath, I force my quivering legs to take me to the instructor. "Excuse me," I say, taking care not to let my nervousness show.

"Yes?" she snaps impatiently.

"My name is Clove. I started yesterday."

"Yes, and what do you want me to do about that?"

"I…nothing…I don't know. I just wanted to tell you that I was taking your class."

"I would have gotten to you eventually, Clover! Now go join the rest of the class!"

"It's Clove," I say. Thistle does not so much as look at me. Dejectedly, I wander back to the corner where Janyse lounges.

I stand beside her and turn to face the rest of the class. Already, I can recognize faces and attach What if we move on?" she questions me.

I nod, still rubbing my face.

Janyse leads me to the knife-throwing station next. It's rather abandoned, the majority of the students having packed up to go other, more exiting stations with larger weapons.

I stare at the rack of knives before me. There are twelve of them, and they all shine in the dim light of the chamber. Each one is larger than the one before it. The first is as long as my hand, the other, three times that.

I lift up the first blade and face the target. Janyse is still speaking to me, but the sound has faded away. I lift my hand, take aim, and throw.

The small knife flies through the air, end over end, before the hilt impacts heroically against the edge of the target and clatters to the ground. I don't care. I'm staring at the knife, speechless. It's the first time today that I've managed to even touch the target.

I vaguely hear Janyse congratulate me. I laugh for a few seconds before retrieving the blade.

It doesn't hit the target the second or third time. On the fourth try, however, the knife catches the target along the edge.

I grin savagely. For the rest of training, I am inseparable from the knives. I still miss more times than I hit the target, but I don't care. And I can feel myself gradually improving as I work.

I'm a little disoriented when the bell sounds to signal the end of lessons. I stand there, my breaths coming in short pants, as I stare at the pockmarked surface of the targets. The smile that forms on my face is more of a prideful sneer than anything else. I hear slow clapping and whirl around.

Yason is standing behind me with an unreadable expression. I can't guess what it is-jealousy? Superiority? Disdain?

"What do you want?" I ask him.

"I was just watching," he replies. "It's good to know what the others do."

"What do you mean?" I ask him as I scramble around, picking up the knives and plunking them down on the display case.

"So I know how much I need to work so I don't get kicked out."

"And?" I question him

"And…right now, I think that the others should be very careful."

I snort. "Really."

"Yeah…really. But don't get your hopes up, newbie. You're still too far behind to compete."

"Yason, why are you talking to her?" Janyse interrogates as she walks up to us.

"No reason," he murmurs, annoyingly nonchalant.

"Well, don't," Janyse tells him. "Let's go eat," she instructs me.

I look around, shocked to find that we are the last three people in the chamber. "Good idea," I concede as I walk out of the training chamber.

As I walk up the stairs, I realize that I managed to forget about my pained muscles throughout my knife training. Now, however, I am once again wincing in pain.

* * *

Once again, I join Janyse at the dining table. The two of us have become closer during my two days in training.

She tells me stories about my new classmates. Together, we laugh until our sides hurt and tears of mirth run down her face. I'm subject to tales of training mishaps and cafeteria blunders. As soon as she runs out of stories about my classmates, I ask her about my brother.

"Is he really your brother?" Janyse questions, admiration evident in her eyes.

"Of course," I reply. My heart swells in pride for Brier and whatever it is he's done to earn such huge respect.

"I don't believe you," sneers a voice from across the table.

I look up and find myself staring into a pair of venomous black eyes like those of a snake. "Susan, of course Brier's my brother," I tell her in a derisive tone.

"You don't look like him," is her only response. "Brier's tall and good-looking, and talented."

I grit my teeth and such in air slowly. My fingers are wrapped along the fork in my hand so tightly that my joints are turning white. Seeing the way her eyes light up when she mentions my brother makes me want to strange her. Instead of killing her, I opt for the more diplomatic option-scornful insults. "You don't _like_ him, do you?" I gasp, infuriated. "For one thing, he's fourteen, and you're what-seven?"

"Eight," she respond in as haughty a tone as she can manage.

"Eight," I tell her. "Brier turned fourteen last month."

Susan san snorts and turns away. "Just you wait," she warns me.

"And that's one of the things about your brother," Janyse informs me. "Half of the girls are in love with him."

"Why?" I ask. I'm more than a little surprised that Brier is so popular.

"Because he's so _amazing_," Janyse gushes. "Most people train in one or two weapons by the time they reach fourteen, but Brier still does all of them."

"Why?" I reiterate.

"Well, he can work with almost every weapon there is better than most. He does swords, spears, machetes, knives, throwing knives, whips, and just about everything else in the training center."

"Wow…" is all I can think to say. I can't help but be awed at my brother's amazing skill. Of course, I remind myself, I'll do just as well in time.

As I contemplate this, I feel the bench beside me creak with the weight of another body. I glance up sharply, shocked to find Yason sitting beside me. "H…hey," I manage to stammer. I'm unsure to how I feel about having him sit there.

Janyse sighs angrily. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Sitting, what do you think?" he asks lazily.

I shrug and turn back to the remaining scraps of meat on my plate. I polish them off while Janyse and Yason prod each other with negative comments.

My mind is swirling with images of flashing knives as I put away my tray and head back to my table. I suppress a sigh of annoyance upon finding Yason and Janyse still bickering. I realize that it is up to me to create peace, something I've never been good at.

"Okay, stop it," I tell them, not very gently. "If you hate each other so much, just wait until the Games to kill each other off."

Janyse glares at Yason, her gray-green eyes shimmering with anger and frustration. He smirks back at her, raising a single dark eyebrow. I laugh nervously and sit down between them. "So, what are we doing after lunch?" I ask the pair.

"Endurance training," they tell me simultaneously. "It's to make sure you can last in the Arena," Yason explains.

"Basically, you just run and do exercise until you feel like you're dead, and then you do it some more," Janyse pipes in.

"Oh," I mumble, already dreading what this next class will do to my already sore muscles. Not that I'll admit that anytime soon.

The bell sounds, and the halls are suddenly filled with students rushing around to their next classes.

* * *

**So remember my poll!**


	5. A Competition

**Greetings everybody!**

**So, I decided to work on my fanfictions, since I'm having a serious case of writer's block on my five or six original stories that I happen to be working on.**

**Which means that you, dear reader, got an early update.**

_**Why don't you vote on the poll in my front page as a thank you?**_

**No, I do not own The Hunger Games.**

* * *

My breath leaves my body in short gasps, and I struggle to regulate my breathing. There's a stich in my side that hurts like nothing should, but I refuse to stop.

My feet push off from the ground, sending me flying forward. I marvel at how drastically I've improved in the last month. When I first arrived, I could complete only part of the track without stopping.

They tell us that one mile is nothing, and that by the time we reach the top class, we'll be running ten miles. The though makes me nervous, but nothing will ever make me admit to it. I figure that by the time I reach the top class, I'll be ready for it.

I flash a smile of triumph as I pass another student. My tiny stature has labeled me as easy prey in the classes that involve brute force, such as hand-to-hand combat. However, my lithe build and long legs make me one of the fastest runners in my year.

I sense, rather than see, another runner catching up to me. I glance out of the corner of my eye and spot Yason, head aloft and blue-black hair flying.

_I don't _think_ so_, I tell myself. I push my legs to move faster to draw up to where he runs. Yason looks back and appraises my speed. He grins cockily, his black eyes taunting me.

I smile my most sadistic smile and force another burst of speed into my numb legs. There's only half a lap left to complete the mile; surely I can beat him.

The pain in my side has spread to my shoulder and ribs, and my lungs burn fiercely. Even so, I refuse to give up even an ounce of speed.

I feel as if I'm flying as I pull up to Yason. The two of us race across the finish at the exact same moment.

"Walk it off!" the instructor tells us.

Obediently, we stumble along the outside rim of the track. For a few seconds the only sounds are those that our feet make on the track and the rasping gasps that exit our lungs.

"Not bad…for a girl," Yason finally says.

I cannot decide whether I should be pleased or angry with his comment. "Not bad...for a boy," I retort.

Yason snorts, eyes widening in surprise. Good. Unfortunately for me, he recovers quickly.

"I'm still better than you, Clover," he shoots back.

"It's Clove." I snarl at him.

"What?" he asks, feigning innocence.

"My name is Clove, not Clove_r_," I berate him. Really, I don't know why I bother with that boy.

"Is it now?" he questions, eyes wide and guileless. I detect humor in those eyes-he's actually enjoying this!

"Idiot," I snap, punching his arm.

"It's about time!" calls a hoarse, breathless voice. We pause as we wait for Janyse to catch up to us. She's clutching her lower ribs, much like I was a minute ago. "Since when do you run so fast?" she asks me.

"Since that idiot there decided to try and show off," I tell her.

Yason bows his head, but I doubt he's even remotely ashamed. "You know, I've decided to focus on knives," I announce suddenly.

"Really?" questions Janyse. "So soon?"

"Well, yeah," I reply. "It's what I'm best at. And you have to admit, I _could_ make it far with those."

"Plus, you can actually pick those up," Yason sneers. I chose to ignore him. "I have a few things I might specialize in," he announces."

"Like what?" Janyse asks him suspiciously. Even after eating together every day for a month, she still is not convinced she views him as a friend.

"I'm thinking spears, swords, or sparring knives," he tells us with a sideways glance in my direction. I understand the look. He's wondering whether or not I will approve of him encroaching on my territory. I'm not particularly glad, but it could be worse. He could have said throwing knives.

"I don't know," I tell him truthfully. "What do you do best?"

"Everything," he boasts.

"I highly doubt that," I say breezily. "I could beat you with throwing knives without even trying."

"Oh, really? I don't think so, Clove."

"I do," Janyse pipes in loyally.

"It's easy enough to prove," I tell them both. "We have thirty minutes of open-gym after dinner. We'll have a competition then."

"Fair enough," he agrees.

* * *

The long-range training room is eerily silent. Apparently, nobody wanted to chuck spears at targets today.

Janyse leads Yason and me to the isolated knife station. I pause in front of the row of knives. Light shines off of the sharpened edges almost hypnotically.

Yason and I each stand fifteen paces away from a target, a rack of twelve knives by our sides.

"Pick up the smallest knife," Janyse instructs us. We do as she says. I grin savagely as I feel the familiar weight in my hand.

"Ready…set…throw!" she calls excitedly.

Yason and I throw our knives simultaneously. Janyse does not give us a single moment to pause. "Ready…set…throw!" she calls again.

When all twelve knives are in the targets, she draws in for a closer look. From where I'm standing, I can see the knives stuck in my target. Five of them are perfectly in the middle, and the other seven are clustered just outside the inner circle.

Yason's target, on the other hand, is littered with knives all across the five rings. There's no competition, and he knows it.

"Looks like you won," he laughs ruefully.

"Like you're surprised?" I raise my eyebrows in his direction.

"Not really," he admits.

We carefully replace the knives before heading back out. We still have ten minutes left before curfew, and Janyse has agreed to accompany me to find my brother.

Neither one of us is particularly startled when Yason decides to tag along. Janyse has become resigned to his presence, and I am used to being beside him by now. The three of us wander along the empty corridors. I suggest that we search in the sword chamber.

* * *

I know we've found Brier by the crowd of girls that are crowded in the classroom. I push my way through the throng of spectators to find my brother hacking a dummy to pieces. Brier's face lights up when he sees me.

"Hey, Clove," he calls. "Come to see your brother practice?"

"Yes," I tell him. I shoot a furtive glance at the girls who glare at me, obviously thinking that _they_ should be the ones talking to Brier, never mind the fact the two of us are siblings.

"Come on," Brier tells me as he leads me out of the chamber. "It's impossible to talk in there," he explains.

"So, how are you?" he asks me.

"Fine," I reply.

"Training going well?"

"Yup."

"Good. Just remember, they're announcing who goes home next week. Don't you dare slip up, because you'll never come back in here. In two months, the final placements will be announced. If you're lucky, you'll advance to the other year. If you're really good, you can advance two years or three."

I nod. All of this is old news to me. "What about you?" I ask him.

"I think I'm top of the list," he tells me proudly. "But I'm not going to volunteer anytime soon," he adds.

"No?" I question him. I would have expected Brier to jump at the chance to participate.

"I want to wait until I'm eighteen to compete," he explains. "I'm enjoying life at the center a little too much to leave early."

I snort. Typical Brier. I open my mouth to respond, but another voice beats me to it. It's a voice that I know all too well, and I wish I didn't. She thinks that because she recently turned nine, she has a chance with my fourteen-year old brother. Susan.

"So, how are you," she asks, all sweetness. I gag at her act.

"Susan, go away," I tell her.

Her dark eyes flash dangerously as she flips back her red hair. "I'm sorry that you got stuck talking to her," she simpers as she draws close to Brier.

"I'm not. That's my sister, after all."

She blanches. "Is she really?" she asks no one in particular. She turns, glaring at me. "I thought you made that up," she accuses.

"Well, that's not my fault now, is it?" I ask her softly.

Susan's no fool, for all she may act like one. She can feel the anger brimming inside of me, threatening to boil over.

"I'll see you around," she smiles at Brier, though it looks more like a leer to me.

"Bye," he tells her distantly.

Susan saunters down the echoing hallway, looking absolutely ridiculous. Brier is kind enough to wait until she is out of earshot before laughing. I am not nearly as considerate.

"I mean it, Clove," my brother tells me, sobering. "You can't get kicked out."

I nod vigorously. "I won't."

"You have to promise, Clove. You have to promise to qualify someday."

"I promise, Brier," I tell him. And at that moment, I mean it. Not just because I want to make my brother proud, but because I refuse to fail when others will succeed.

* * *

**Sorry for the short chapter, but at least it's early! So please, please, please _VOTE ON MY POLL!_ I cannot introduce Cato into the story until you do.**

**Farewell,**

**SilverBlueMoon**


	6. The First Scores

**I'm sorry for the delay!**

**First I suffered from writer's block, and then I went on vacation, and then my account malfunctioned and I could not edit this document! But here it is!**

**And as a be-lated birthday present (it was on the fifteenth), be sure to review and vote on my poll. And if you like this, check out my other quizzes!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, much to my dissapointment.**

* * *

_The preliminary scores go up today_; I think the moment my eyes open. Though I've never been a morning person I leap out of bed.

My foot catches on the rumpled sheets and I barely manage to avoid landing flat on my face. I allow a small smirk to form on my face at the avoided disaster before rushing to get dressed.

Not ten minutes later, I stand in front of the mirror. It's odd, but I hadn't noticed until just now hoe much I've changed over the last month and a half.

I've grown an inch or so, though I'm still shorter than my classmates by a significant amount.

And the leftover baby-fat that used to fill out my face has all but vanished. In its place muscles are starting to develop.

I meet my muddy green-brown eyes evenly. I wonder if I will be sent home today. I know that even if I am kicked out, I am no longer the same person I was when I came to the training center.

I've formed friendships and enemies, and I've discovered an activity that I simply adore. Throwing knives.

Shaking my head; I've never been good at giving myself pep-talks, I stride out of my door and towards the cafeteria.

* * *

I know I've reached the lists as soon as I see the mass of people assembled around the wall. If this were an orderly occurrence, then the students would file into the cafeteria as soon as they read their placements, allowing others to take a look.

Instead, I spent the better part of fifteen minutes elbowing my way to the front of the crowd-hardly a simple task, given how much larger and stronger than me everyone was.

I plowed through the lists as quickly as I could, struggling not to be pushed away or fall down with the jostling of the crowd. At last I found the list for the lower level. All ten names of it.

1. Garnel Rougree, female, 7

2. Ash Wheelner, male, 8

3. Yason Carrow, male, 6

4. Janyse Magelee, female, 7

5. Clove Furhman, female, 6

6. Susan Wyvern, female, 9

7. Rodner Miachels, male, 8

8. Myra Lace, female, 6

9. Sloane Oaktre, male, 7

10. Onyx Stoneworker, female, 8.

A line crosses the list after number six. Everyone ranked lower than that has been cut from the program. I don't know what to make of my ranking. I'm still in the program, though I admit I had hoped to be higer up on the list. Janyse and Yason have both been spared, much to my relief. It's too bad that Susan will advance as well, but there is nothing I can do for that.

It's my own ranking that irks me; number five. Average at best. I nibble my lip and dig my nails into my palms. Never again will I accept such a low score. I refuse to.

* * *

Janyse congratulates me on my score, all smiles. I force my lips to form that same expression, though it lacks the vital energy that she's so clearly expecting.

_You did better_, I want to say, but I bite my tongue. Saying that would simply prove how unhappy I am and I do not want to admit any weakness.

Yason does not mention my ranking. He simply looks at me for a moment, his midnight-colored eyes staring at me with an intense mix of emotions I cannot decipher. Yason nods, as if my silence confirms something he suspected all along before picking up his slice of toast.

Janyse, oblivious to our silent exchange, begins to prattle about how we were finally going to enter more advanced lessons now. We'd just passed the first month-and-a-half checkup, where the lowest of the low had been eliminated. Now we just had to make it another six weeks until the next set of eliminations, where one or two more would be sent home. After that, the remainder of the class would be examined. If we made it through the first trimester, we would make the rest of the sessions without fear of being sent away until each trimester ended.

I nodded at Janyse's words, though I'd heard them all already. I wondered if this was her way of filling in a gap. I certainally had not been aiding her with my total silence. I had not uttered a single word after finding my name on the list.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but I was interrupted.

"Mind if I borrow Clove for a moment?" Brier asks from behind me.

Janyse and Yason nod. I leap up, grateful for the excuse to leave.

Brier takes out of the cafeteria, past the crowds of students milling around the lists. We wander partway down the hall and turn a corner so that we can no longer see the others.

"Clove," he begins. "You made it."

I look up at him from the curtain of dark hair, curious as to what he will say next. Is Brier…proud? Or is he angry with me instead for ranking so low?

I opt for the second option. "Yeah, I guess I did," I murmur. "But I'll rank higher next time, I promise,"

Brier looks at me oddly. "You did well enough, Clove," he tells me.

I bite my lip, feeling tears of disappointment fill my eyes. _No!_ I tell myself furiously. _I do not cry. I never cry_. "But it could've been better," I whisper.

"Well, of course it could have been better." Brier admits, and I look down with shame. "But Clove, you arrived after everyone else did," he reminds me. "You're younger and smaller than all of them, and you still made it in."

I nod, running his words through my mind. When he says it like that, I cannot help but to agree. And I start to see my ranking as something different. It's not a score to be ashamed of, it's a score to improve upon. I've already shown that I'm good enough to stay. Now I have to prove that I'm good enough to reach the top.

"Good," Brier tells me, noting my sudden change in demeanor. "No go back to your friends and eat, Clove. You'll need your strength."

I reach out and hug Brier tightly. He pats the top of my dark head absentmindedly and then pulls back. I wander back to the cafeteria, my hunger returning in full force. I glance back behind me once, but Brier is gone. I blink and turn away.

* * *

"Clove, where were you?" questions Janyse as soon as she catches sight of me.

"Talking with Brier," I answer calmly as I pick up my slice of bread.

"For fifteen minutes?" she asks skeptically.

"Never mind that," Yason snaps. "We have to throw away the leftovers so we can leave as soon as the bell rings."

I snort. "Overachiever." But I cannot help but to agree with his sentiment. Not that I'll ever admit to being on the same page as that boy.

As one, Janyse, Yason, and I push back from the scuffed-up table and wander to the serving area. We toss out the scraps and slam the dishes onto their designated counter area.

"So…" I begin, searching for a way to break the silence, "now that we're officially part of the program, they'll let us chose our specific weapons, right?"

"Yeah," Yason tells me. "They'll test us first though, and we still have to complete all of the other basic training."

Janyse sighs. "Endless running. Fun."

I shake my head. "You could focus on something like…fire starting or guard duty if you want to sit around all day."

Yason laughs as Janyse turns bright read and splutters with anger. I force my face to remain smooth and calm so as not to anger her even more.

Janyse opens her mouth as if to say something but cuts it off. An odd expression covers her face as she allows a tiny, uneven smile to force its way across her lips. A few seconds more and she's laughing right along with Yason.

The shrill ringing of the bell drowns out our laughter. As other students rush about to tidy up their spaces, the three of us walk out of the door.

The first lesson that morning is something that sounds useful enough, though boring: basic survival skills.

* * *

I bury my nails deep into the soft flesh of my wrist and wince, jolting wide awake. I blink away the unrequired tears that spring into my eyes at the pain and pull my head up from where it rests on my palms.

For the past twenty minutes, the teacher has been droning on and on about the uses of certain plants. Truthfully, I see no point in forcing us to learn about what is edible and what is not in the Arena. As a Career tribute, whoever is in there will have virtually all of the supplies.

Yason looks every bit as bored as I feel, I note with dull satisfaction. Janyse, on the other hand, is scribbling notes furiously, was if her life depended on it.

I crane my neck to better see her paper. Mostly, she has crude drawing of each plant the teacher shows us. Her large, uneven letters (which are still much nicer than mine) cover just as much paper as the images, but they are only a few sentences long.

Susan is fixed on the teacher as well, but her eyes contain a vacant look that tells me that she is not truly paying attention.

Ash sits at the very front of the classroom. All I can see of him is the meticulously ironed and washed midnight blue fabric of his shirt and a sliver of lightly tanned skin on his neck where his dark blonde hair does not quite reach.

Garnel, a large, bulky monster of a girl, taps her fingers impatiently on the desk. I can tell that she impatient to get away from the tediousness of classroom work and head into the training chambers. She twirls a strand of mousy, undeniably grayish blonde hair around her finger as her other hand twitches around an invisible weapon.

The other first years-those who were not in the first trimester training period-lounge alongside us.

I recognize a slim, dark haired boy from my days in my home village. A girl with impossibly long, impossibly red hair that I recognize as the Mayor's daughter pretends to pay attention to the lesson.

Looking at her, I wonder if she has any family links to Susan. This girl has a similar face shape to my enemy-long and thin, almost horsey. Her hair is redder, and her eyes are within the typical range of eye color in the district, which ranges from blue to green to hazel. Susan's eyes are dark. Not the alluring black of Yason's eyes, but a matte almost-black instead.

I wonder why the mayor's daughter would participate in the Hunger Games. Surely not for the money (they mayor is quite possibly the richest member of District Two,) and from what I've heard, she's too timid to want fame.

I snort and push myself to pay attention to my lessons, though the idea that I'd ever really need to know that aloe vera is good for burns and that peppermint helps curb hunger is ridiculous. If I were ever in the Games, sponsors would send me any medicine that I needed, and the Career pack would control all of the food supplies anyway.

The instructor proceeds to hand out a piece of paper to each student. For lack of anything else to do, I take it and read it.

"These are examples of plants found in last year's arena," the instructor tells us. "Can anybody tell me what last year's arena was?" she questions.

The flame-haired daughter of the mayor raises her hand.

"Yes, Wellayah?"

"It was a combination of a desert and grassland," she answers in a clear voice.

I grind my teeth with annoyance. She sounds just like a twenty-year old trapped in a seven-year-old's body. And I cannot ignore the insult that she's inadvertently hurled at me. I didn't know the correct definition for last year's Arena. I decide that I dislike Wellayah just as much as I do Susan.

I listen to the lesson with only half of my mind. The rest of me is busy calculating whether Wellayah or Susan would have died first in last year's Games. I giggle as I imagine the pair dying in the bloodbath, the first tributes to go, even before the pair from District Twelve.

The bell sounds to signify the end of the lesson, as Susan and Wellayah rush out of the door.

I wait for a few minutes before leaving. Yason appears at my side almost instantly, but Janyse remains behind, finalizing notes on her paper.

I clear my throat rather loudly, standing behind her.

She gasps and jumps slightly. "Oh, you scared me," she laughs.

I turn and face Yason, who raises a single eyebrow in response.

I shake my head and smirk at him as Janyse gathers her papers and stands up as quickly as she can.

The three of us race down the corridor, hoping to get to lessons before the next bell sounds.

* * *

We slink through the door just as the last ring fades out of the air.

"I'm glad you three decided to join us after all," murmurs the cool, dangerous voice of Thistle.

I swallow, noting how Janyse and Yason stiffen beside me.

While I am still frozen, Yason seems to regain his composure almost instantly. "We're hardly late," he murmurs easily. "We were in here before the bell stopped."

"Well, yes, but only just."

"We are in here, are we not?"

Thistle grinds her teeth in annoyance. "You get off-this one time," she snarls at us. "But I expect you to work extra hard today. And if I don't see a notable improvement by the end of the lesson…" her verbal threat trails off to nothingness as she slashes her finger across her throat.

The intent is perfectly clear. If we do not do exactly as she says, then we're dead meat.

Six is a little too young to die, I decide.

* * *

**Soo...what did you think? I know that it's been ages since I updated, but I was busy! Still, review, vote on my poll, and head over to my other fic, Fears, to recommend a song or a fear.**


	7. Injury

**I'm ever so sorry for the delay! I've started school again, and I am far too busy to work every day. I chip away when I can, but it's hard. I'm one of only two tenth graders allowed to take a senior history class, and I have two honors classes beside that. I barely have time to breathe!**

**So, yeah. Read, review, vote on my poll.**

**I do not own The Hunger Games. **

* * *

I squint at the target in from across the other side of the room. I focus on it, hoist my knife.

"Go!" screams Thistle, and I sprint. About halfway down the two-hundred foot long stretch, I take aim. Moments later, the blade leaves my hand. I pause, watching as the knife arcs through the air, catching the rays of light in a hundred different angles before impaling itself on the outer edge of the target.

I wince. Only the outer edge? I was aiming for the very heart of the circle, a good two feet above my knife.

"Next!" screeches Thistle, and Susan takes center stage, bow and arrow in hand. She fumbles with the string and misfires, sending the arrow tumbling out her grasp and onto the ground.

I smirk.

Yason is next. His javelin is only about five inches away from the center of the target.

My mouth drops open. Did he really just do better than me? Well then.

Janyse does about as well as I do with her spear. No surprise there. I watch with feigned interest as the others aim at the target. Knives and arrows clatter to the floor; spears and javelins roll about the ground.

Every so often, the solid "thwack!" sound of a target being hit resonates across the long chamber.

Finally, it is my turn again. I take my position, glaring at the distant target on the other side of the hall. My vision narrows, until all I can see is the red center of the target, the same vibrant hue as my blood.

When Thistle instructs me to run, I race forward. Ears pounding, I pull my knife into my hand.

I release without pausing or slowing down. The silvery blade of cold metal cuts through the air, and for a moment I think that I can hear the air whining as the knife cuts into it.

The next thing I know, the knife is stuck hilt-deep in the innermost circle of the target, only about two inches away from the center.

I turn to face the instructor and my peers, unable to keep the self-satisfied grin off my face.

Thistle nods, her face impassive, though I catch a glint of admiration glowing in her eyes.

Janyse cries out suddenly. "Clove, your hand!"

"What about it?" I ask, perplexed. I don't look down.

"It's bleeding," Yason informs me. "You cut it when you drew your knife."

I suck in a deep breath before looking at my left hand. It is indeed bleeding-quite a bit, in fact. Now that my adrenalin is fading, I can feel the pounding ache in my hand as the crimson liquid seeps out.

The gash is deep, and stretches from the top of my knuckle down and to the side, where it just misses my thumb. I feel faint at the sight of the garish red liquid against the pale, callused skin of my hand. My stomach clenches, and I sway on my feet.

"I'll take her to the medic," Yason volunteers.

Thistle nods. "Yes, that would be best. Can't have her blood staining the floor now, can we?"

* * *

I don't like the "hospital" in the Training Center. It's small and lit with unforgiving, stark white lamps. The air reeks of disinfectant and bandages and blood and other things I don't even want to think about.

I dislike the medic as well. He's a small, fussy man with a high-pitched, nasal voice and insecure manner that makes _me_ uncomfortable.

He stares at me through his thick spectacles with pale, watery gray eyes. He prods my wounded hand with cold, sterile tools that send a chill into my blood.

As it turns out, my hand needs to be sewn shut. I accept the pain medication offered to me, but in a smaller dose than is required. The numbing morphling is injected straight into the wound. The clear liquid swirls out from the rough skin of my left hand stained with scarlet ribbons of blood.

Though my stomach churns and bile rises in my throat, I refuse to look away from the small needle being pushed into my skin.

At first, it's only a faint sting, but then it begins to _hurt_. I gasp in spite of myself as blood wells from the hole in my skin, staining the string that is supposed to close the wound.

The doctor makes one knot and makes sure it is tight, then cuts away the string. A millimeter or so away, he repeats the process.

I'm equally mesmerized and horrified at the sight of my blood. It's just so wrong, to see this most vital of fluids outside of my body.

And then I have to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. I'm training to be a _Career Tribute_ of all things, and the sight of blood makes me queasy. What type of tribute will I make is I keep this up?

Yason looks at me sharply. My laugh must have sounded even crazier than I believed. A moment later, his eyes clear as he fixes his gaze on my bleeding hand. _You're scared of _blood? He mouths.

_Shut up_, I respond.

Yason turns away from me as he spasms in silent laugher.

I consider what would be the easiest way to kill him. A knife in his chest? A slit throat? For some reason the thought of Yason dying is off limits.I scowl, thouroughly discusted with myself.

* * *

I stare up at the ceiling, wishing I could fall asleep. My hands rest on my chest, folded across each other. My entire body is curled protectively around my injured hand, which throbs with pain every time my heart beats.

I've been informed that I am to take a week off before returning to combat training, something that rubs me the wrong way. Even worse, I've been told that I have only two days off from classwork.

As if I want to spend my days learning new plants or the history of Panem. Dark days. Big war. Treaty of treason. Hunger Games. Yada yada yada. I know it all already. All I wnat is to be back in knife training.

Yason was livid when he heard what they'd told me. He said that it wasn't fair, and that real tributes didn't get to take a break because of an injury. I'd agreed with him, yelling cruel things to the medic, which he'd blithely ignored. Finally, the fussy medic had asked an enormous seventeen year old who was passing in the hallway to remove Yason from the hospital wing.

He'd gone kicking and screaming the whole way back to Thistle's class; Janyse informed me when she stopped by after dinner, food in hand. He'd been more upset than the class had ever seen him. Imagine that. I figured that he was simply upset that he couldn't best me without intervention.

I couldn't help but laugh at that as I bit into my doughy bread, dipping it into the chicken soup.

Janyse had continued on to tell me about the rest of her day, including all of the other's reactions to my absence. Susan had seemed glad, at least until Thistle yelled at her for being so terrible with a spear.

We talk for a while longer, until Janyse yawns.

"Oh, you must be tired," I exclaim.

Janyse shakes her head vehemently, but the second yawn that rips out of her throat begs to differ.

I laugh. "Oh go to sleep," I tell her. "Me and my hand aren't going anywhere."

Janyse nods. She stands up and exits the room. I wonder briefly if she locks it, but I'm beyond caring. Now that I'm alone, I can afford to give into weakness, if only for a moment. I shove the plate of empty food onto my table and wander into the bathroom. I brush my teeth halfheartedly and crawl into bed without bothering to change into my nightgown. I just chuck my soiled clothing onto the floor and snuggle under my scratchy sheets, wrapping a blanket around me tightly.

* * *

The room is pitch-dark and I struggle to figure out what woke me up. A sound like…a turning doorknob. I lay there, paralyzed, heart racing. A doorknob turning; but who could be out here at this hour? It must be the middle of the night.

The door opens slowly. I narrow my eyes to thin slits, watching the figure approach in the dim light. Its hair is too short to be Janyse's and far too dark.

I've got a fairly good idea as to who it might be, but I refuse to believe it. Even he is not this crazy.

"Clove, are you awake?" he whispers.

Well, what do you know? He truly is that stupid. "Yason, you idiot, what are you doing here?" I hiss. My heart's pounding from anger now more than anything. "Do you know what they'll do to us if they find you?"

"Expel us?" he asks calmly.

"Well, yeah," I tell him. But there's no weight to my argument, since he already knows what the consequences would be.

"I think that's for the older students," he tells me.

I frown, not understanding, but refusing to ask. "What are you doing here, anyway?" I demand of him. "You'd better have a good reason."

"Well," Yason begins, "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"And that couldn't wait until morning?" I ask skeptically.

He coughs slightly. "Stupid, I know. But…I wanted to be sure. And I wanted to know how long it would be before you were up and bothering me again."

"And so you came here yourself." I cannot begin to count the ways this is wrong, and just trying is making my head hurt.

"Would you prefer I leave?" he questions me.

"Yes," I respond simply.

I can just barely catch a glimpse of his shadowy silhouette as he pushes his hair back. "I didn't actually mean that, you know." he informs me.

"I figured," I sigh. "You do know how tired you'll be tomorrow in training, don't you?"

"Yup."

We're at a stalemate. He won't leave, and I cannot convince him to. "You wouldn't happen to have a knife, would you?" I ask suddenly.

"Uh no. Why?"

"So I can scare you into leaving" I respond in a monotone.

"As if that would scare me," he snorts.

"I never miss my target," I bluff.

Even in the dark, I can picture him raising a single mocking eyebrow. "Oh really."

"Yes, really."

"And what would your target be exactly?"

"It depends. What's the fastest way to kill you?" I ask.

Yason pauses for a moment, deep in thought. "Heart," he says finally.

I cannot help but giggle at this, though my face suddenly feels far too warm. "You want me to…target your heart?"

I feel Yason stiffen and recoil beside me. I imagine the brilliant blush coloring his cheeks, so garishly bright against his thin pale skin. "No! I mean, yes…or, uh…well…"

I cannot stop laughing. I bite into the flesh of my wrist to keep from making too much noise. Yason is still spluttering nonsense. I decide this would be a good time to get him to leave.

"So, see you soon?" I quip.

"Yeah, sure," Yason replies quickly, grateful for the escape route that I've just provided him.

Once he's gone, I roll over onto my side and laugh until the tears run down my face. I will never let him live this one down.

after a half hour or so of giggling, I begin to feel drowsy again.

My eyes drift open and closed as sleep begins to take over. Finally, I give into the darkness.

I open my eyes sleepily. A drowsy smile crosses my face as I snuggle deeper under the blanket. And then a sharp pain shoots through my left hand, and all my desire to sleep is gone. Gingerly, I sneak a peek at my wrapped up hand. The blood has seeped through the bandage and dried, leaving it splotched with brown.

I shudder and turn away from it as my stomach twists in on itself. "Ew…" I complain to myself.

I fumble around, struggling to get into my clothes with only one hand. In the end, I give up and pull on a shift-dress instead of my usual trouser and shirt combination. After all, it's not like I will be in training today.

I decide to wander around the training complex. After all, I was never told that I have to remain in a certain place while I wait to heal.

I exit my room cautiously. It's nearly three hours after the first class began, however, so there is still about an hour before lunch. I'm a little miffed that nobody bothered to awaken me for breakfast, but I shrug it off.

Instead of heading the usual way towards the stairs, I head in the opposite direction, deeper into the dorms. After about three hundred yards covered and four turns, I find myself at a dead end.

I'm about to turn away when my eye catches a slight seam on the smooth gray concrete wall. I wander closer, feeling the crack on the wall. It's smashed into a corner, only about three feet tall and a foot and a half wide. I push against the material slightly, gasping as it swings inward. I peer into the darkened corridor looming ahead of me. Peering around one last time, I squeeze into the small passage.

For once, I'm glad that I'm so tiny. Susan and Janyse would have had a harder time making it through. I half-shut the door behind me.

Now it's so dark that I have to squint just to see. I make it about ten yards before the path splits off. Unsure of what to do, I turn around and head backwards.

I make a mental note in my head to pick up some writing supplies and light before heading back here again. For I most certainly will be back in the passages soon.

* * *

Janyse brings me dinner again. The two of us sit and laugh together. I don't tell her about Yason's visit yesterday, or the passage I found.

I study her face carefully, to check if she can see that I am lying by omission.

Janyse doesn't appear to notice. I sigh in relief and inhale a hunk of juicy meat.

"So, we have two free days starting three days from now," Janyse begins.

"So?" I prompt her.

"Well, I was thinking that we might do something on one of those days."

"Like what? Go into town?" I ask her. "We can't do that without an adult until we're nine."

Janyse scowls. "Susan's going," she mutters.

_That_ gets my attention. I don't want that redhead to be able to do something that I won't for years. And the prospect of visiting the central village _is_ enticing.

I think for a moment, I pause to calculate the points of my plan. But careful forethought has never been my forte.

I caution to search under my pillow with my hand. There-I feel the paper and writing utensil I scavenged earlier today from an empty classroom, and the handheld light I borrowed from an open supply closet.

A crafty smile sneaks onto my face. Janyse studies me with a curious look on her face.

"What?" I ask her.

"Nothing," she murmurs. A few seconds later, however, she focuses on my face more intently. "You're planning something," she tells me flatly.

"Maybe," I smirk. "If it works, you'll find out soon enough."

Janyse stares at me a few seconds longer. "Should I be scared?"

I've already turned away, facing a blank wall, injured hand cradled in my lap. "Oh, yeah," I reply vaguely. "You should be very scared."


	8. The Escape-Route

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games**

* * *

Thistle cuts me no slack at training. In fact, she expects me to make up the classes I lost.

When she makes her pronouncement, I grind my teeth and try not to scream in annoyance. I hurl knives instead.

For the first time, I manage to strike a perfect bulls-eye on the target. I whirl around, grinning triumphantly, ready to show off to the teacher.

Instead of Thistle, I find myself face-to-face with Yason. I haven't seen him in three days, since the little midnight escapade.

He seems to have recovered his composure, sadly. I would have enjoyed watching him squirm.

"Janyse tells me you have a plan," he announces without prequel.

I ignore this and pick up a second knife. I study it for a few seconds, taking my time to respond. "I always have a plan," I buff. "The question is, what plan are you talking about?"

"That's the thing. Janyse couldn't find it out."

"Well," I laugh. I throw the knife, watching the deadly arch of silver fly toward the perfect circle of the target. "Maybe I don't want anyone to know, yet."

"You'd tell me though, wouldn't you?"

"You tell me," I reply as I let loose another blade.

* * *

In the privacy of my own room, I unfold the sheet of paper I've been drawing on. The map shows, in the crude renditions of my clumsy penmanship, all of the passageways I've discovered thus far.

I fold the paper up yet again and secure it and my lamp to the waistband of my trousers. I fold up my extra clothes and blanket into a Clove-sized bundle, which I arrange convincingly under the covers.

I lie down beside the lump and turn off the light, waiting. I listen as the hall monitor passes by the door, making sure that there are no visible disturbances in the area.

Ten minutes later, I hear her leave. It's time.

I push myself upward and outside my door. Moving in total darkness, I wander down the hallway, silent as a shadow.

I make my way to the passageway entrance. I've used it so many times I can open it without looking by now. I slide into the narrow tunnel and gently click the door shut behind me. Only then do I flip the switch on my light to "on".

The flickering white light blooms around me, making the exposed skin on my hands and forearms look ghostly and pale.

I clench the map between my teeth and crawl deeper into the tunnels. The previous times I traveled the pathways, I turned right at the first intersection.

This time, I turn left and enter a long, narrow passageway. There are no entrances or exits other than the one I just entered, meaning that it will be easy enough to slip back through later on. After what seems like an eternity, I stumble across a cylindrical, vertical tunnel. I peer into the gloom with the aid of my light.

About an arm's length away, I spot the thin rungs of a ladder, only about an inch or so wide.

The smooth metal looks rather slippery. I aim the light downward. I can see for about thirty feet before all is lost in the gloom.

All right then. If I fall, I'll die. Taking the deepest breath my lungs can hold, I reach across the chasm. My fingers grip the rung of the ladder. Slowly, I swing one foot forward, and then the other. I slam forward, crushing my chest against the cold metal.

I gasp, hissing as I force air back into my shocked lungs. The lamp is tucked into the waistband of my pants, causing an uneven glow to fill the chamber.

Keeping my eyes fixed stubbornly on the rung above; I make the painstaking climb upward. I count the number of times my hands move. One…two…three…

When I've counted to fifty twenty times, I stop. There's a tiny ledge over the last rung, onto which I climb. I curl up on the cold floor and allow the walloping fear that should have consumed me earlier to overtake me now.

It is only after I have managed to calm myself down that I take in my surroundings. The ledge is really the opening to another tunnel, though it only seems to travel in one direction. The ceiling is only about two feet away from the ground, making it by far the smallest of the tunnels I've seen. There is a panel on the roof, and through it I can see the merest shimmer.

I sit up suddenly, barely avoiding an impact to my head. Could it possibly…? I push and prod at the rectangle until I manage to push it out of the tunnel and into the night air above.

Slowly, reverently, I stand up until my head and shoulders are out of the tunnel. I grin, pushing my face into the silvery glow of moonlight. When was the last time that I was outdoors, that I felt a fresh breeze on my face?

And suddenly, I realize what this tunnel will be used for. I throw back my head and laugh. Tomorrow Janyse, Yason, and I will be in town, as all of the older trainees will be.

The journey back to my room seems to take up almost no time at all.

* * *

I slide smoothly into the seat across from Janyse and Yason. They take in my triumphant smirk in silence for a few seconds. Yason raises a single eyebrow in that arrogant move I wish I could achieve.

"Well? Spill." Janyse demands.

I smile at them. "What if I told you that I had a way to get out during free day?"

Her jaw drops, a pleasing affect, I think. "No way," Janyse laughs.

"Oh, yes," I reply in what I can only pray comes off as a mysterious tone.

Yason speaks for the first time. "Care to tell us?"

"No." I laugh. "I'll show you."

Yason nods. "Okay. Let's go."

"As soon as I eat," I tell them. "Plus, we need to give people the chance to leave."

Janyse nods glumly. "I guess…"

"Clove's right," Yason affirms. "We should be here for a while."

I take my precious time eating the tesserae-grain muffin I pick up from the counter, glancing blithely at the impatient Janyse. She taps her fingers nervously on the tabletop, glaring at me every couple of seconds.

I smile at her with muffin-filled teeth, standing up at long last. Janyse exhales in relief and bounces up.

* * *

"Now the problem," I begin, "is how to get Yason into the girl's hall."

Yason freezes midstride. "What?" he squeaks.

I grin in his direction. "Haven't you been there?"

He glowers at me, begging me not to reveal what transpired a few days past. Janyse turns around and stares at us. "Wait, what happened?" she demands.

"Nothing," Yason and I chorus.

As our friend continues forward, Yason pulls me to the side. "Clove, I can't go in there," he whispers fervently. "I can't!"

"You went in before," I remind him.

"Yeah, but it was night, and everyone was asleep," he hisses.

I tilt my head sideways, as if considering. "Too bad," I laugh. Grabbing Yason by his surprisingly well-muscled arm, I drag him over to the halls.

* * *

Everything is silent as the three of us creep down the hallways. I lead Janyse and Yason forward confidently, though slowly. I can tell that Yason is petrified of being discovered – the thought that he is scared of anything at all is just so preposterous in my mind that I cannot help but laugh.

Finally, we reach the hidden passageway. Opening the hatch, I jester for the duo to follow me and disappear inside.

"Are there cameras?" squeaks Janyse suddenly, and a thrill of terror overcomes me as I consider the possibility that we were watched.

"Nah," replies Yason, who's been here longer than either of us. "They don't put cameras in the dorms, only in the classrooms."

Which makes sense, I suppose, if we are training for the games. Still, the thought that some stranger can watch me at any time is unsettling.

I give my head a quick shake to clear it. "This way," I whisper, leading my friends deeper into the hidden passages.

* * *

**So, I'm back! Woo! I know, I know, I'm a horrible, terrible person for not updating sooner.**

**Anyway, be sure to vote on my poll. Cato's going to be making an apperance soon, but I need as many votes as possible before then!**


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